


Not My Dominion

by Jaybeefoxy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angel Greg, BAMF Greg Lestrade, Good Omens if you squint, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mycroft Whump, No Idea Where This Came From, angel au, mystrade, x-over AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:27:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27985344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaybeefoxy/pseuds/Jaybeefoxy
Summary: Not My DominionThough they go mad they shall be sane,Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;Though lovers be lost love shall not;And death shall have no dominion.Dylan Thomas“And Death Shall Have No Dominion”
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 10
Kudos: 65





	Not My Dominion

**Author's Note:**

> Absolutely no idea where this one came from. It's a slight x-over with Good Omens. Had it knocking around a while and finished it. Meet Gregriel, Guardian of the North Gate, and Guardian Angel to one Mycroft Holmes.

_“Mycroft, make sure he’s looked after. He’s not as strong as he thinks he is…”_

_“I’ll take care of it.”_

_“Thanks, Greg.”_

“Subject is secure, sir. We’re ready for transport.”

“Wait.” Greg walked across the helicopter and threw open the door. “I want to check something.” He glared at the person who was sitting in the back, securely strapped in a straitjacket. He met the dead stare with one of his own. Suddenly, time seemed to stop. The people around them simply froze in motion like figures in a tableau, the lights on the emergency vehicles ceased to strobe, all noise ceased. Into this unnatural quiet, the woman’s gaze focused on the silver haired stranger standing close. Her interest piqued, and she smiled, sharklike; cold and reptilian. Her focus expanded, and homed in on him... 

Greg felt the unsubtle attempt at control, allowed it to probe, unchallenged. He waited, patiently. Felt the digging, the exploration, the pushing against boundaries. He also felt the growing awareness, and then the realization, and eventually…. _Bingo_. 

“DON’T,” he snarled. “Don’t even think about it. I am _not_ vulnerable to you, and what’s more, you now know it. DON’T try my patience.” The gaze flicked away, nervous now, seeking an escape. Greg leaned in closer. “Listen carefully, you bastard,” he demanded. “If you ever do anything like this again, so help me…” The eyes flicked back to his, saw something in them and flinched, actually flinched, away from him. “Never, you understand,” he mouthed softly, but she heard, nevertheless. 

“Should have done more,” he muttered. “Never realised how dangerous you were.. _.are_ ,” he amended. “Oh, yes,” he said, “I know now. You got under my radar this time, but you won’t do it a second time.” He glared at the woman. Felt her flinch. Saw the demon behind her eyes cower. “They’re under my protection, in my dominion. In fact, London is under my Dominion, and don’t you forget it. If by your actions they are permanently damaged, I will be back. I will find you and I will deal with you, with extreme prejudice. I am Gregriel, Principality of Great Britain and Guardian of the North Gate. If you or any of your friends try to hurt those under my protection again, there will be _no mercy_. Do I make myself understood?” The eyes met his again, reluctantly. “DO I MAKE MYSELF UNDERSTOOD?” The volume made the woman wince, and he was put in mind of John Watson the morning after his stag do. Three Continents Watson reduced to asking him to keep it down as he set them free from of a cell in Lambeth nick, the lightweights. Then there it was, a tiny nod. It was enough. Pact made, deal sealed. Maybe not signed in blood or the entrails of some hapless sacrificial goat, but sealed nevertheless. Didn’t need the extra Biblical frippery to make it binding. He wondered briefly if there was anything of Eurus left, and doubted it. Reluctant to evict the demon in case of harm to the woman, Greg left it alone. For now. 

A tidal wave of sound and motion washed back over them, normality returning with a shock.

“All done there, sir?”

“Yes, I think we are.” Greg slammed the door and stood away from the helicopter as its rotas began to whir and the engine started to whine. He ducked his head and trotted the rest of the way out from under the radius of the circling blades. He watched from the sidelines as the ‘copter lifted off and disappeared into the darkness, lights winking. Good riddance, he thought, with relish. Cowed, subdued, chastised. _My work here is done_.

His senses prickled with... _something_. Awareness made him blink, and think, and feel. His human was about to do something stupid. He glanced across at Sherlock and John, feeling the other’s presence like a balm. John Watson—AKA Joriel, Keeper of the Western gateway—was watching his charge with interest. He had almost lost his way a time of two, and now both 'men', were getting back on track. "Gotta go," Greg said, and ran…

No one saw the wings unfurl, or the figure take flight. He wasn’t in a mood to fret about human vehicles or people wondering where he was…

**Two hours earlier...**

Mycroft woke with a start, disoriented, finding himself on her bed, in her cell. He rolled to his feet, groggy, trying to put as much distance between himself and her... _resting place_ , his mind supplied, as he could. He stumbled to the door, found it open, but unguarded. The place was deserted, in fact. There was no one about, no guards, no doctors, no one. He had no idea where Sherlock and John were, no idea if they were alright… Mycroft tried to calm his racing heart and failed. _What if...but no, I cannot think like that, I do not have all the data_ … 

He found a phone, but the line was dead. He did not have his own mobile anywhere on him. _Am I marooned here? Will they know where I am? Do they know what transpired? Is she in the process of destroying the world…?_ He couldn't think straight. He had no idea what to do...

 _The shame of it all,_ Mycroft thought, bleakly. He found himself staring down over the balcony wall outside the director's office, into the churning sea below. It was night, the cold sky dark overhead. There was minimal lighting inside the complex, as though it was under lockdown. There was a blood stain on the balcony floor, but no sign of a body. He shuddered at the memory. 

The smash and crash of the waves filled his senses, the cold wind cut through him and the spray showered him in brine…. He shivered, bone tired and freezing cold. _Old_ , he thought. _I'm getting old...and foolish. Dull…_ He could suddenly hear her voice in his head, although he knew she wasn't there. _Old, stupid, never the smart one,_ she mocked him. _I'm the smart one, and I know everyone would be better off if you were dead. Mummy and father don't like you. They'll hate you for making them believe I died. Go on, Mycroft. End it, end it now!_

The voice inside of him wouldn't be silenced. He couldn't think straight…. _You failed. You couldn't keep me locked up. You lost! Sherlock is dead, and it's your fault…_ There was a roaring in his ears, and he swayed toward the edge of the precipice, dangerously close to falling. From nowhere, gentle hands on his shoulders grounded him, steadied him. The voice in his head ceased, the din of the waves was muted. 

"Mycroft," Greg said gently, standing behind him. "Come on, come with me, now." He was turned away from the balcony and guided back inside. 

**0000000**

"You never learn, do you? I told you if you tried anything more I'd be back," Gregriel snarled at the cowering form. "I am not going to suffer you to remain on earth. In her name, I banish you to the nether planes from whence you came. Suffer a thousand torments for eternity, as far as I care. You hurt the one I love above all…" _Sorry, Lord_ , he thought, _but you know I have a weakness for this one…_

**A day later….**

"Gregory?" 

"Sir, you're with us again," Anthea said gently. 

"Where is he, where's Gregory?" Mycroft demanded. "He was here…" he watched her frown.

"Are we talking about Chief Inspector Lestrade, sir?"

"Who else would I be talking about?" he snapped, testy and impatient. "Where is he?"

"I'm honestly not sure, sir." 

Mycroft stared at her, puzzled. "Where are we?"

"Hospital, sir. We rescued you from Sherrinford after the events there…. Don't worry, everything is under control. Your brother and Dr Watson are alright. Your sister…"

"What? What about her? Where is she? Please, don't tell me she escaped…"

"No, sir. Nothing like that. Chief Inspector Lestrade saw to her transport personally, sir. However, it seems she suffered a massive cardiac arrest on the way back to Sherrinford. They diverted to the nearest hospital but she was pronounced dead on arrival. I saw her...body, myself, sir."

"You are sure then…?"

"Yes, sir. I...made certain, sir." She carefully omitted that she had watched the post mortem herself. Eurus was quite definitely dead. 

Of course his parents were upset with him. Inevitable really, he thought, watching his mother pace his hospital room in angry agitation, while his father just looked disappointed.

"He tried his best," he heard Sherlock say in his defence, and his mother's tight lipped reply. 

"Well, he's very _limited…_ "

Suddenly the crushing weight of guilt overwhelmed him. He had tried so hard. Keep the nation safe, and thereby his family… He had never been able to keep his brother safe, nor his sister… “Please leave,” he heard himself saying. There was a flurry of angry words, although he didn’t hear them. 

_That's not your fault._ The thought came from nowhere. He blinked, startled. Gregory's voice, he was sure, but the man was not there… There was a knock at the door, and the man himself appeared as if on cue. 

"Mycroft? Did I come at a bad time? How are you?" Gregory spared barely a glance for the other occupants of the room, and made a beeline for the bed, sitting down and taking Mycroft’s hand in his. “How are you feeling?” 

Both Mr and Mrs Holmes glared at the newcomer, but Greg was unphased. "Gregory," Mycroft said weakly. "A lovely surprise…" A smile of infinite beauty was bestowed on him then, with all the cheeky boyish joy that came with it. 

“Good. That’s good.”

"Well, I hardly think…" his mother began, but was cut off mid-sentence. 

"Me neither. Hazardous to health sometimes, thinking too much," Greg said cheerfully, fixing her with a smile. Scandalised, Mrs Holmes got ready for a counterattack. 

"Mother, dear," Sherlock said, forestalling her, "allow me to introduce Detective Chief Inspector Greg Lestrade, of Scotland Yard. Greg, this is our mother, Marion, and this our father, Edward."

"Nice to meet you," Greg said, smiling affably. "Bet you're proud of your son, eh?"

"Proud? I hardly think so…"

"No?" Greg frowned. "Can't think why not. Your son, Mrs Holmes, is a protector.” Greg’s voice suddenly changed, resonating into Mycroft’s bones. If anything he sounded proud. “I think you should bear in mind that everything Mycroft has done, he has done for this nation of ours, and thus your protection. He has given up his time, his energy, his health, his money, his very life, to make sure your other son was safe and well, not to mention you, his parents.” In her head, another voice resonated. _And it was never his responsibility to sort out either his brother or his sister, it was **yours**. You were her parents. However, I think there have been enough recriminations. What happened, happened. The important thing is how you all move forward from this. Assuming you don’t want to lose another child, perhaps it’s time to take some responsibility, yeah?_ “If I were you, I would be very proud, very proud indeed.” The lady nodded, bemused. “Good. I think you were leaving, weren’t you, Sherlock?” 

“Oh, er, yes, yes we were.”

“What? No...not yet…” their mother began but was silenced by her husband who put a hand under her elbow and led her out, protesting about not having had enough time with her eldest son. When the door closed, the resulting silence was a balm.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Greg said with a smile. Mycroft sighed and looked away. “You okay?” Greg asked.

“I am...alive,” Mycroft said, without relish.

“Breathing,” Greg said and smiled again. “Breathing is good.”

“What are you doing here? Where have you been? I was waiting for you to show since Sherrinford. It was you, your voice in my ear, your hands on me, bringing me back from the edge, from the sea… Wasn’t it?”

“No getting anything past a Holmes, is there?” 

“Just who are you, Gregory Lestrade?”

“Detective Chief Inspector Gregory Lestrade,” Greg said, simply. “Otherwise known as Gregriel, Principality of the Dominion of Great Britain, Guardian of the Northern Gate, and Guardian Angel, as if I didn’t have enough to do, of Mycroft Holmes, Esquire…”

“Guardian…”

“...Angel, yes. Yours. We both protect the Nation, Mycroft. You protect the Nation, I protect you. Win win situation.”

“Angel?” he murmured, confused. 

“Yeah, how else could I get to you in Sherrinford _and_ save your brother and John at Musgrave? Bit far to fly, I’m afraid…”

“Musgrave?”

“Yes, that’s where she took them. I’m sorry about her, Mycroft. I couldn’t save her at the end…”

“What happened?”

“She wasn’t your sister, that’s certain. At least, not any more.”

“I am not...not sure I understand.”

“Demon, Mycroft. Nasty denizen of Hell…”

“Yes, I do know what demons are, but...You mean one possessed my sister?”

“Something like that. In evicting him, I’m afraid he killed her. She wasn’t strong enough to withstand his leaving.” Greg sighed. “I’m sorry, there was nothing I could do, not even me, Mycroft, with all my power....” For a moment he was quiet, regretful. “He slipped past me, fooled even me. Got to her and nearly had you, and I didn’t even realise. Trying to do you in was the mistake though. If it’s any consolation, he slipped past John too.”

”John?”

”Yeah, he’s Sherlock’s Guardian. I’m feeling a bit guilty actually. I shouldn’t have been distracted so badly that I didn’t see what he was doing until it was nearly too late. That little git Moriarty was partially to blame. The hoops I had to jump through to banish him…”

“Don’t blame yourself. You saved us in the end. Tell me, is there a Heaven then?”

“Boring bloody place, but yes, there is. Why?”

“I just wanted to know there was something more than this.”

“Yes, there is. As I said, it’s not as exciting as this, but it’s nice in its own way.”

“I...don't know what to do...or say…"

“I know, and I am sorry to do this to you, but…”

“No...you’re going to make me forget, aren’t you?”

“It’s kinder.”

“Would you...let me remember _you_ , at least?”

“Me? I’m not actually going anywhere. Here for life, Myc. Your life.”

“But I’m in love with you, you dolt. I don’t want to forget that.” 

Greg smiled. “You are?” He grinned joyfully. “You really are." He sucked in a breath. "But I'm not human, Mycroft. You are." He sighed. "S'against the rules...but...you deserve something good. You've suffered a lot."

Mycroft looked up from his hospital bed and saw...Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade, his coat rumpled and his tie askew, sleeping in the chair at the side of the bed. He smiled, amazed at how Greg had defended him to his parents, and how he was still here, waiting loyally, patiently, at his bedside. 

“Gregory?”

“Hey, yeah, Myc...You okay?” He looked rumpled, sleepy, and adorable to Mycroft’s eyes. _Oh to have a rumpled Gregory in my bed every day..._

“Yes, I am. Although I had the strangest dream…”

“Probably all the meds you’re on, Darlin’.”

“I dreamed you were an angel...my Guardian Angel…”

Greg chuckled. “Sometimes feel like it.”

“You’re not, of course.”

“Hate to point this out, but no wings.”

“A valid point.”

“No halo either. Mine slipped years ago.” Mycroft chuckled, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.

“I love you, Gregory. I nearly lost the chance to tell you.”

“You’re telling me now, and I love you too, truth be known.”

Above the bed, Gregriel looked down on the human vessel he had been inhabiting for the last decade. Greg was blissfully ignorant of his time in service to the Almighty. It was time to leave this vessel and find another, leave this one to fulfill his time on earth as the policeman he was, and the person who was in love with Mycroft Holmes. If there was one thing he could do, it was instill some love into the person he had been using for so long, to influence the will to nudge things along, to leave the person better than he found them. Greg had been in a dark place when Gregriel had taken residence, and now he was...well, in a better place, and it was no real problem to encourage his love for the man in the bed. Mycroft deserved some happiness, and so did Gregory. Gregriel would continue to act as Guardian Angel for them both, but a long and happy life was ahead of them, and it was about time Joriel moved on too, but that was up to John Watson. Gregriel could foresee changes there too. He sighed, smiled and left the two men to their own devices, wondering at the way the world, and demons, worked. Sometimes it was nice to exercise some influence for the better. He faded away, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, leaving nothing but his happiness behind, and the two men, cuddling close, and at the start of something beautiful. 


End file.
